What Happens with the Undertaker, Stays
by menolikey
Summary: So you've got this dead chick. You've got the undertaker. Not interesting? Well what if this dead chick had a Ciel-complex. And what if she hates Seb's guts and works for the Undertaker. OC/Undertaker
1. the Undead

Disclaimer: you know the drill, guys.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Undead

I was minding my own business really before it hit me. Or more accurately, ran me over.

I had just been out buying my master some groceries for dinner since according to Sebastian all the other servants in our household excluding himself are useless (no bias there). Don't get me wrong or anything, Maylene, Bard, Finnian, and Tanaka are really nice people, but even so, they tend to make everything worse than it was originally. By doing so, either Sebastian or I will have to clean after the mess (most of the time its Sebastian though).

That's right. Sebastian. Where do I get started with Sebastian? Well for one he's very handsome or so Maylene tells me, and he's perfect -a little too perfect; it makes me suspicious about him. He's just not right. When he's there it's like he shouldn't be or he's not meant to be. Its almost as if he's some supernatural thing -a demon or something. I'm half believing it, too. He can do anything and everything with the slightest ease and it makes me as a maid, jealous. Just who is this Sebastian? While trying to find the slightest clue, I must do so without attracting attention which is just as hard as it sounds. If I ever get caught stalking him, it'll make me look like a paranoid fanatic or something.

But despite my best attempts, he knows I've been watching him.

He knows that I am suspicious, that I am trying to use something to bring him down, that my imagination is driving me crazy. Being the devil he is, I bet he is enjoying every last one of those minutes. I can just see him now! Taunting me. Mocking me with those eyes! How DARE he? That-

Off topic. Sorry, my bad. Where was I? Ah yes. Ahem.

Walking across the street to the carriage with a bag of fresh meat and veggies, I had in my mind the recipe for my special soup that not even Sebastian can match. Master Ciel can't resist any of my soups no matter how unappealing it may look. I was nodding my head, gloating about how happy Master Ciel would be when he started eating the soup. His small adorable face would relax and he would give a tiny contented sigh before moderately gobbling down the rest and asking for seconds. Master Ciel….

Because of my air-headedness I completely missed the racing carriage rapidly speeding at me and eventually over me. I never even got an actually chance to see it; all I saw was my everybody else's horror.

My whole life then slide-showed through my head. I was four when I first laid my eyes on Ciel. Wrapped around in a silk blanket, his mother gingerly handed him to me as if he were a gold bar -so precious and yet somewhat heavy. Ciel wasn't a crier and that was one of the things I really liked about Ciel -he was smarter than normal kids, (I could tell); his eyes would lightly observe the room as if cataloguing the items in the room. I remembered how I sang Ciel to sleep, how I would pat his bsck and hug him close when he cried which he did less as he got older, how I would play with him while his aunt and mother were smiling and chatting, how he loved to play hide and seek, how he loved my soups even before, how beautifully pale his face was and how clear blue eyes were. Most of all, I remembered his smiling face -grinning from ear to ear.

And then that day happened. I had been out shopping again to find master Ciel something to wear to Baron Von Strudels' ball. By the time I got home, all that was left of the Phantomhive mansion was debris. For what seemed like an eternity I had waited in Madame Red's mansion until the day that perhaps Ciel would come back, and miraculously one day he did. Out of the blue, he just appeared with Sebastian at his side. We were all so, so grateful that he had come back; however, he had changed into a colder, less cheerful, darker version of himself. Nevertheless I was glad he was back.

It was upon that night I was giving young master a bath that I realized what had happened, for on his back was the branded tattoo of a slave. I just stared at it until young master had said, "Get out." But I didn't. Before my duties of a maid were the duties of a sister and a friend and he needed me right now. After my parents died when Ciel was about two, he was all I had. Ciel was everything to me, just everything, and I treated him like a master and a younger brother. For years, I helped raise him and protect him, but at that moment, I felt like I failed him. I hadn't protected him from being sold a slave. I hadn't protected him then, but I promised to protect him from then on. So with all my might I hugged him and sobbed softly, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You're alright now. You're safe now." He somehow relaxed and I could tell he was crying, too. We sat in the bathroom until he gained his composure. From that day on, Sebastian gave master Ciel his baths and dressed him in the morning. I was very much heartbroken and disappointed that young master had chosen Sebastian over me. Sebastian hadn't raised him! Sebastian didn't know him that well! Still, I thought to myself, Sebastian was there at his worst. Ultimately, I was very relieved at least young master had somebody to count on.

Over the next year or so I came into a routine: In the mornings, I would sweep, clean, and polish. At noon, I would kick Bard out of the kitchen to make room for Sebastian and prepare the ingredients as Sebastian had listed. I only cooked dinner on Sunday. Sebastian cooked cuisine and I cooked more homier things as hamburgers, mashed potatoes, shepherd pies, and soups. In the afternoon, I would stop the other servants from destroying one area of the mansion only to have them wreck havoc somewhere else, and afterwards, Sebastian would clean it up. It was a fun and gleeful year, and even Ciel returned more to his normal self every now and then when there was no other company…

My memories ended. Then I saw a flash of white light that enveloped around me and pulled me to the end. Through a glass door I could see fluffy clouds and hear the tinkering of harps with a fragrance of rose; even the air felt fresher than in life. Looking back behind me I saw my memory of a smiling Ciel -he'd be very much devastated if I were gone wouldn't he?

"What's wrong?" asked a booming voice sounding like a grandfather, warm and gentle. I couldn't tell whether it was a boy or girl. I didn't even know I actually heard it.

"Kind sir," I explained, "I know my Ciel would hate me to leave him behind. His parents had left him too. I don't think he could bear to lose anybody at this time." A stab went through my chest. I couldn't bear losing him either.

"I'm sorry dear. You must go on. Go. Look. Aren't they your parents?" And there they were my mum and dad. I cried for them but they just smiled and beckoned me towards them with surreal laughter. Almost past the door, I saw Ciel's parents who whispered to me, "Stay with Ciel, please we beg of you. And tell him we love him no matter what happens." That was all the encouragement I needed. With Mrs. and Mr. Phantomhive's last wish I ran towards the darkness behind me, feeling strong tugs all around me to turn back to the fluffy laughter and white light, but I just kept running and running and running, willing myself to go to Ciel.

And everything went black. Was that a good thing?

* * *

"Ara ara~ What do we have here~"

I woke up to see a man's face a few inches away from mine. "ARRG!" He was definitely scary enough to be my murderer. I was on a medical table in a dim lighted room next to a white haired deathly pale guy who was carrying a scalpel. Erm... I don't usually like to assume but its either a) I'm in the morgue, b) I'm being dissected by my murderer, c) I'm in a nightmare. Let's go with the third one, I like the third one, I thought. I pinch my eyes together trying to go back to sleep or to wake up.

"It's not a dream~" says the weird cloaked guy carrying a scythe. A scythe? Whoa.

My heart beat faster and faster and -wait a minute. I put my hand on my heart. Why was there nothing? Can somebody please tell me why there was nothing? The heart was on the left side right, right? I desperately felt myself up in any search for my heart.

"You won't be finding your heart missy~"

"Huh?"

"Missy~ How do I say this?~"

"H…huh?"

"Missy~ You're as dead as roadkill in a morgue~" he silently laughed at this to himself.

"HUH!"

"What you don't get it?~ Road kill… you~"

"No that's not what I meant!" I snapped at him, "I'm dead there's no way! No -well that does explain the voice." So this means I'm in the morgue. Still better than choice B.

"Oh?~"

"What day is it?"

"November 7th why?"

"I've been here for four days?" I hyperventilated trying to get off the bed only to fall to the ground. Just then, I realized I was missing a leg. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Breathe.

I definitely wasn't dreaming because it hurt like blood-gutted, pus-spewing hell. My head felt the cold floor. Was I in some sort of virtual game? I don't think so. I looked at the little stump of what I think was my upper thigh. "Where's my leg?" I asked quietly. Actually, I'd rather not know.

"Kukuku~ hehehe~ its over there~" he pointed to a little mound of body parts with the scythe. Mine was on the very top of the mound. I hopped to the mound and collected my leg. "Hey, what are you? Wouldn't normal people run away screaming by now," I had just realized this, "and what's with that scythe too? What are you suppose to be? A death lord?" I laughed at this in my head.

"Ara ara you found me out~" he said chillingly, walking around the room to a drawer. I, on the other hand, was trying to reattach my leg to well, my leg. "Do you need assistance?~" I shook my head, unyielding. "Well Ciel was very worried about you~ Although you're looking quite fine now~ hehehe~" Ciel? That's right! What was I doing here? I need to get back to Ciel! I quickly stood up just to fall over again. "Would you like some assistance?~" I furiously nodded, he just grinned. This man was infuriating! He should not, in any way, be enjoying this as much as I knew he was.

On a metal tray was everything you needed to stitch somebody up; he carefully took a needle and started stitching everything together with some sort of clear string. The string wove in and out in and out, in and out; what the hell!- I was being mesmerized by a piece of string! It only hurt slightly even though he didn't use any anesthetics; I think it was the fact with me being erm…. dead! Although I had told myself not to be so mesmerized with the string, I still found myself following the needle with my eyes, but only because he was doing it with so much precision and delicacy. When he had finally finished, I was shocked, completely shocked. There was almost no mark at all and you could only catch a glimpse of the string when it reflected the light.

"Impressed?~ Young mister Phantomhive told me to take care of you well~," he said, "would you like some tea and biscuits?~" "What did the young master say?" I asked but he was already out the door. Sighing, I took this time to look around me. Excluding myself, there was only one other dead body lying patiently on a metal examination table. Beside him were three other medical beds. The room was lit by an array of candles sporadically placed around the room and a gas chandelier hanging from the middle of the room. I tried to move my leg. At first it twitched a bit, and as the death god came in, I was already walking. It responded incredibly well for a limb that was on the other side of the room just a minute ago. Zombie limbs are a plus.

"So Mr. Death Lord. What is your name?" I asked glancing at the biscuits that curiously resembled dog biscuits. I took a small bite with the front of my teeth, but it turned out the cookies -although musty and dry- were very well made and complimented the tea -earl grey, my favorite. "Most people call me The Undertaker~ but you can call me Terry~ and yours?~" He winked at me through that mess of a hair. Almost half of his face was covered by his bangs, and he had this curiously long scar across his face. I smiled. Cheerfully, I thought that Terry couldn't be so bad after all. "Most people call me Emily, but you can call me Lulu." I grimaced a little at my familiarity with my mortician.

"Well, Terry. I think I will be on my way for now." He just grinned like he knew something that I didn't. I walked out the door, through the hallway, and into the first door that I saw which appeared to be Terry's bedroom. I found myself staring at a strange lady. It took me a while before I realized that I was standing in front of a mirror. My jaw dropped to the floor in a split second. Firstly, I was half naked -only in my undies- and secondly -more importantly- my hair! When I was alive, I had long dark locks of hair, you know. It was jet black and swayed which ever way the wind blew, gently whipping across my face, and I was proud of my hair -it was one of the few things I loved about myself! But now…. Now….. I had no black hair to speak of because as it seems, my hair is now completely and repulsively _white_! I screamed a blood-curling scream.

"It's my job you know to clean dead bodies~" said Terry leaning against the door frame. I blinked at him, finally understanding what he was talking about. "No! not that! My hair is ruined!" I hollered. "You're hair?~ You're mental you know~ You should be worried about your nakedness!~ And on the side note, I think your hair looks better now~~" he giggled. I lost it. Completely lost it and I started to scream my lungs out. "Oi, oi, its alright you know~" he said stepping towards me with his palms facing me as if the action would calm me. No! NO! It wasn't alright! My beautiful hair was the only thing that Ciel had ever complimented me on. "Ciel is not going to like me anymore!" and then, it hit me like that carriage that hit me three days ago.

I'm _dead._ Why would he accept me now that I'm dead? Who cares about my bloody hair! Sinking to my knees, I curled up into feeble position rocking myself back and forth. Crouching down to my level, Terry patted my shoulder with awkwardness and told me, "Its alright~" He stopped for a second to think. "Would you like to stay with me? Or would you rather go back?" he asked reading my mind. Not knowing what to think, I shook my head. "I don't know…" I murmured. Tink tink. Tink tink. It was the shop door.

"Undertaker!" a voice called, that voice I knew so very well. "What shall we do Lulu?~" "I'm staying here and hiding from him. After all, I _am_ still dead..." "Whatever you say Lulu, but this cat and mouse game won't last very long~" "I know!" I exclaimed, "but I can't think of anything else right now!" "Alright~ There are some clothes in the bottom drawer if you're feeling a draft~"

As he walked to oblige Ciel's call, I sighed and looked into the last drawer. Surprisingly there were some expensive women's clothes that perhaps was used to dress the corpses? Sniffing them, I suspected they were new and put them on. I felt bad for putting on somebody else's clothes, but that person most likely was dead and couldn't do anything about it.

It was an ankle-length dress that was a lot less puffy than that of the latest fashion. It was moderately low in the chest area to show off my non existent boobs but didn't go too low. Wholly, the dress felt elegant and the material looked like some sort of expensive silk. There were also black gloves that fit to the 'T' and a ring. I tried to put it on my middle finger -the only finger I like to put my rings on- and it also fit like it was made for me. I took the ring off and noted some etchings on the inside. "To my beloved, Emily Lurysmith, May you rest in peace for eternity" I snorted. A bit too late for resting in peace I might add…. Hey! This is for me! And it says "my"! Young Master Ciel did this just for me? I am deeply touched and not worthy! I missed them and wondered how they are doing. I hoped they'd be getting along okay without me. _What am I saying, they have Sebastian. Sebastian, you a-hole, you better take care of my family! _I thought.

Again, I looked into the mirror again this time noting how I almost look exactly the same as before minus the white hair and the paler skin. I don't look blue but I don't exactly look human colored either. I guess my luck will depend on the lighting then. My eyes are still black (actually if you were wondering, they aren't black -they are so immensely dark brown, they look black if you aren't close enough). Even though I had been run over by that stupid driver of that stupid carriage, I didn't look like I had, but I suspect Terry fixed me up good. I tried to feel the stitches but it seems I can't really feel anything. That's a minus to being a zombie: you can't really feel anything (which might explain for the heightened ability of my other senses).

The door's bell rang again, so I assumed it was safe for me to come out now. I tiptoed out of the hallway and down to the room I thought was the lobby. Another plus for being a zombie -better hearing because I don't think I would have heard the bell from Terry's room if I were my normal self. I peeked into the lobby, Terry was there sitting down smiling. He turned to me.

"Ara ara ara.~ Somebody sure looks pretty~" I blush. Just then the door bursts open as if we were the mall on a special sale. "One more thing, Under-" Ciel walks in but he cannot finish his words. My mind goes blank as I stare at him staring at me. Even the calm and collected Sebastian looked a little confused . It seemed only Terry was not looking flabbergasted. His smile just fades slightly. "Is the game over already~?" he pouts.

"E.. em… Emily?" Ciel sputters out.

I look around me for anything to hide behind, too late. "Er….no…?"

* * *

This is actually my first story so I hope you enjoy it. Please review. If you don't review it means you'll be sending me to the depths of despair. I don't care what you write as long as you tell me something. So be nice.

**Review.**

Review = you getting a preview of my next chapter + my love!


	2. goodbyes

AN: Thank you all so so sosososososososo much for reviewing! (for those of you who did). And even if you didn't, thank you guys for putting my story on your story alert list or even your favorite list. Really, I'm not worthy (but by all means don't let me stop you!).

Disclaimer: my first disclaimer should cover the rest of this story.

Without further ado…

* * *

Chapter 2: Goodbyes

Emily turned to face Ciel and although she couldn't bring her self to look directly at him because she knew that if she looked into Ciel's eyes, she'd have an instant breakdown, she did look at his clothes which were mourning black. She'd always had a soft spot for Ciel. It was like those stories of those big bad biker dudes with a soft spot for their kitty which were tucked into their leather jackets – not that she was a big bad biker dude and not that Ciel was a kitty even if he sometimes resembled one.

She had absolutely no idea what to do. In fact the situation was turning more and more problematic by the second. Emily couldn't face Ciel and she had yet to answer his question. Sebastian seemed to be awaiting her answer so he could make fun of it. And worst of all, her world around her seemed to be spinning uncontrollably out of control. Only minutes ago had she found out that she was a zombie. A zombie for crying out loud! Nothing made sense anymore. How could it? Emily had half the idea that what was happening was all a bad corny dream.

She should be with Ciel at this moment not with the undertaker -DEAD! The thought that had clouded up her mind was suddenly dispersed when Ciel cleared his throat. The question still hung in the air. It hung in the air like a bad smell, like skunk spray.

When Ciel looked at the girl, he only saw Emily. She walked like Emily, fidgeted like Emily, and had seemingly confusing self-debates, all just like Emily. But Emily is dead and he had identified her body himself. Her heart stopped beating and she had long since taken her last breath. Ciel made a face

Finally Emily spoke up. Poise, rationality, and punctuality were some of Emily's finer points. Emily indeed did speak but she spoke with an American accent. It wasn't a big deal, after all, she was used to this. And upon deciding its usefulness rather than difficulty, Emily's personality changed on the spot. She used one of her aliases.

"Sorry little man. I ain't no Emily, but if you want I could find you one." She stopped to grin. Emily let the silence amplify and emphasize the new change. But still Ciel knew she was a good actress only he didn't know how good of an actress she was. He also didn't know when the acting began and the reality stopped. Emily then continued talking. She figured that the more distracted Ciel was with her meant less time for him to think the whole situation thoroughly. "I'm Jean. Nice ta meet 'cha. Nearly died myself when I saw your Emily. Nearly a mirror I'd say. Although, mind you, I be much prettier."

Ciel's eye twitched ever so dramatically. This crude, awful Yankee couldn't be Emily. Emily was gentle, kind, and well-mannered. Emily saw it in Ciel's eyes, he was stubbornly admitting to himself that I could never ever, ever be Emily.

"Say kid, what was Emily to you anyways? She's got you all riled up so she's gotta be somebody important." Emily asked casually twirling her hair. When he didn't respond (he was too busy piecing together his self-control), Emily suggested, "Friend? Sister? Girlfriend?" Ciel's face went from mad to adorably embarrassed/furious. Sebastian, who was at his side, looked like he was enjoying Ciel's torture.. That bastard.

Emily looked back to Terry for any help. She was kind of ashamed for having to betray and humiliate Ciel like that. But it was for her cover. Anyways, after this Ciel would probably be so mad at her that he would even ever think that there was a sliver of possibility of her being Emily. _That could be a good thing_, Emily thought. Besides she'd do anything to hide that she was a zombie. She'd read those horror books. Nobody likes zombies. _Nobody_.

It was now that she noticed that Terry stood very much like a vulture, watching for his prey to tire itself out. His grin got so much bigger and much more carnivorous. Seeing as so much damage had already been done, he came to her rescue either to help her or perhaps for his own amusement.

"Jenny here~"

"Jean" Emily quickly cut in.

"Jeanny here just started working two days ago after I realized that too many people were dying these days. (You'd think it was the black plague all over again). She's a real good worker; she helps with the boring things such as tailoring the dresses isn't that right?~" Emily nodded vigorously. Terry motioned towards the dress with a hence-the-dress-on-random-stranger gesture.

Still, Ciel was skeptical. Ciel was hoping that maybe Emily was alive.

"Could Emily… Is Emily still alive?" Ciel asked. This question was directed very queitly to Sebastian, but Emily could still hear it, loud and clear (zombie ears!). Sebastian smiled, but not a nice smile. It looked menacingly voracious.

The Undertaker smiled wider. _Wrong question~_

"No." was Sebastian's reply. Ciel seemed to relax. He nodded.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. When Emily dared to sneak a look at Ciel, she instead found herself locked in eye contact with Sebastian.

If you ever do catch the eye contact of a person with deep crimson eyes, not just red, but almost an addictive crimson-maroon, you will find that it is nearly impossible to escape. Like cherry blood, its sweetly and intensely intoxicates.

Emily, like most, could not look away. While alive, she never really paid attention (in fact she avoided him as much as possible), but now, dead, she could stop and smell the roses. Or in this case, get entangled in the bushes.

Then, Sebastian smiled. You didn't need to be telepathic to know that he knew. Emily just knew that he knew. It didn't make sense how, but it didn't matter. He knew that she was Emily. He knew she was a zombie. He. Knew.

Startled, Emily broke eye contact and backed away. She realized that Ciel had been talking to Terry the whole time.

"…we have decided on a different dress. We thought it would fit her better." Sebastian held out a large rectangular box. Emily reached out and grabbed it. It melted her heart to know that Ciel went through all this trouble for her. "I'll get right on it." Emily said with glassy eyes. She quickly tried to blink the tears away from her eyes.

It was really hard for Emily not to run to Ciel, hug him, and tell him that it was her; unfortunately, Emily felt that the moment had already passed: she had already lied straight to his face. Besides, what kind of person would be able to accept her as a zombie without running through the streets yelling or at the very least calling the psychiatric ward on her. Emily felt as if she was in dead man's land. She was screwed no matter what. Immediately, her world folded in on itself and all the times that she would have had with Ciel and her family and even Sebastian disappeared. There would never be another time she could hold Ciel or see him laugh or cook him her soup. There would never be another time where Maylene would whisper how much she liked Sebastian while they giggled on her bed at night, snacking on chocolates and cookies. There would never be another time where she could sit and enjoy tea with Tanaka, where she would ruffle Finnian's hair, or where she would pretend that she could swallow Bard's food. Emily's lungs heaved in a silent cry. She'd promised to take care of Ciel, but how could that happen now?

Terry broke her out of her reverie. "And speaking of Emily~ Would you like to go see her?~"

Emily whipped around, eyes on the verge of puffy madness. There was no way that Emily could become the dead Emily fast enough not to mention that her hair was the wrong color. She knew that it was a bluff but what if Ciel called him on it? Emily was practically flailing her hands. The people around her looked at her oddly. Excuses flashed by in her head. None of them seemed relevant.

It all depended on Ciel. Whether he wanted to go see her or not was all up to him, and Emily prayed to God and to any other god-like names she had learned throughout her life. In fact she was politely threatening Hercules under her breath when Ciel shook his head. "No, I am sorry to say that we can't. We have a guest who is coming very soon." Ciel said. It occurred to Emily that his voice was pitchy and half an octave higher than it normally was. Sebastian looked disappointed. Emily wanted to stick her tongue at Sebastian. However, some things just have to have the right moment for them.

"Well that's too bad~ Maybe next time?~" Terry said sounding slightly disappointed too. Emily felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders (thank you Hercules!) and let all the air out of her lungs with a big sigh. She then continued to relax, breathing deeply. Emily wanted to kill and hug Terry at the same time. All the tension that had been building up inside that room dispirited as the relief came flooding in.

Ciel then walked out the door, Sebastian following close behind him.

"Hey, Terry…." Emily said intimidatingly. The Undertaker was slightly surprised that she had reverted back to her old self. He was sure that wasn't a good thing. Emily grabbed him by his shoulders and glared at him. His shoulders seemed like they were going to crack under the pressure. He felt himself being shook from side to side.

"Terry…you!" The Undertaker was sure that he was a goner… but suddenly her grip loosened and she sighed. Emily threw her head back. She was now brain-fried, exasperated, and exhausted. "Were you serious?" Emily finally asked. The Undertaker titled his head in question. "You know…." Emily started. The Undertaker shook his head cutely. Usually Emily would just give up on the subject, but right now she was tired and agitated. "When you told them that I was your shop assistant! If that was true!" Emily exclaimed.

The Undertaker chuckled. "Oh~ Of course~ I'd love to have you as my assistant~ Thanks for asking~" He said. Emily blushed a little. Usually she wasn't like this. Usually. She looked at the grinning Terry. She started to chuckle a little. Perhaps she just needed an escape from the negative energy. The Undertaker started to chuckle at her, chuckling.

* * *

Emily was beautiful.

"It is such a shame!" one noble exclaimed.

"Yes, she was a bright girl." another stated. Those around her nodded in agreement.

"And to go in such a way!" a third said. Some "tsk tsk"'d

The big doors to the church swung open. Emily could feel the chilly winter air. _I've always wished for my funeral to be ._ The crowd quieted. _There weren't even invited_. They only came to suck up to Ciel. _I'd rather that only friends came._ Upon reaching Emily's coffin, Ciel turned to face the unwelcome strangers. "All those," Ciel said, "who were not actually invited to this funeral. Leave." _Ciel does know me best_ Emily almost giggled.

It took about ten minutes and a hundred indignations for Sebastian to persuade everyone to go home. Only the Ciel household and other Phantomhives were left. The church felt cold and empty, and Emily knew this was probably the last time she should see them. In a way, her funeral was her funeral in the sense that the Emily Lurysmith and all her connections died. After the funeral, Emily "Jean" will live a different and possibly equally fulfilling after-death.

The family lined up to say their Goodbye's. Emily's heart seemed to crack every time one of them said goodbye. She wanted to get up and tell them she was okay. She wanted to tell them that everything was going to be okay and that they should be happy.

Sebastian came up to me first what an unpleasant farewell. "See you later Jean." "Demon!" Emily harshly whispered. "Oh, somebody's sure slow," he said with hauteur.

Next Tanaka came and placed his hand over her hand with a rare solemnity. Saying everything he could while saying nothing at all, he stayed that way for a while and when he left, his hand shook slightly. Tanaka acted like the stone of the family: always smiling, always calm, always somebody you could count on to be there and listen. Tanaka often listened Emily complain even years and years ago.

Then Bard stood in front of Emily with his hands shoved in his pockets. "Too young, my friend, but hey, at least you'll always stay beautiful," he joked, but he didn't fool Emily with his fake cheeriness because his voice cracked. Bard made the worst food that she had ever tasted in her life. He always burned it and didn't understand the word, moderation, or edible, for that instance. She always told him to stop smoking, too. He made crude jokes which most of the time Emily laughed at because they were so bad.

Finnian laid a bouquet of flowers beside Emily's head, probably some hydrangeas, her favorite. She had a small passion for flowers, and both of them succeeded in killing every single plant which was unfortunate to come across their paths. They took secretly took pride in it, their motto being: "if it's green, it's dead." Finnian always acted cheery and carefree which Emily always envied. Secretly, Emily thought of Finnian as a sort of little brother.

Auntie Angelina held Emily's cheek in her warm hand. "If I could take you're place, I would darling. I would. You and Ciel are the apples in my eyes. You were something like a daughter to me and never forget it." She leaned over and touched her forehead to Emily's.

Next, Maylene fell on top of Emily crying. "Hey Emily. You said you'd always listen to me even if I was talking nonsense and even if I was babbling about Sebastian or even the weather, but how are you going to listen to me now? Who will tell me how I should wear my hair or where to put the silverware after you're done polishing them? I finally found a true friend, but then you go and die. Tell me how to keep going on." She sobbed a while more and kissed Emily's forehead, "Don't worry, Emily. I'll try to trip and fall so much for you and me both. I'll visit you regularly in your grave, too, to keep you company."

Ciel was the last to say goodbye.

"Emily, you were… you are like a big sister to me. You are a best friend. Don't wait for me in heaven. I won't be going there," he said and then stopped. Emily could hear a cruel smile on his face. "You look beautiful today, Emily." With that he gave me a kiss, I twitched but I don't think he noticed. I could feel my eyes moisten with tears. He hovered for a minute longer- just long enough for him to pull himself together.

The coffin doors closed with a muffled thud. Before Emily could open eyes, tears sprang out unintentionally. She couldn't believe she was going to be leaving all that. It was a week ago when she was laughing with everybody else. Now she was in a coffin and was currently being buried. How cruel.

A few days ago Terry had told her that Sebastian was … is a demon. Figuratively and literally. That meant that Emily could have told Ciel if she wanted to. If Ciel had made a contract with a demon, surely his dead friend coming back alive wasn't all that bad. It might have even been an improvement. Hope had filled Emily for a while. She had thought that she could go to Ciel, tell him she was undead, and they'd go back to the way things should be. Such idealistic thoughts filled her head. Before her funeral happened, she could say she was in a coma and had miraculously woke up.

The situation played in her head a million and two times but it all came down to one thing: could she bear letting Ciel see her die not just once but twice? The thought of it gave Emily nightmares. If Ciel were to die multiple times, she wasn't sure she would be sane. Ciel was sure to accept her. She was sure of that. Ciel was one of those people who would look arrogant and heartless (sometimes this was all he was) but deep, deep down he loved his friends and family dearly. Emily didn't know when she'd drop dead next. It was a miracle she was alive so the same miracle could retract her life just as swiftly. Also, under that, the thought of returning startled her. She could not explain her reluctance to go back, but she felt hollow whenever she thought about going back to how it used to be. She no longer felt like she belonged to that world. Finally, there was Terry. Emily really didn't care to leave Terry alone; he gave her the impression that he'd starve or die in a lonely corner without her. Right then, Emily consciously understood that Terry needed her.

A lot of thoughts streamed through her head. She fidgeted with her ring, twisting it back and forth. Her eyes adjusted to the dark coffin. It was a very well made and expensive coffin for sure. For one, it was mahogany. Perhaps when she dies, for reals, she can asked to put back here. Tired from all the crying and thinking, Emily closed her eyes slowly. Emily had a nice dream.

A bright light awoke her. It wasn't as heavenly as the first, but it was just as warm if not warmer.

"Hey love~"

Emily sat up blinking. She took Undertaker's hand and she got out of her grave. She closed her coffin, and helped shovel dirt on it. After she was done, she and Terry took a breather.

"Lets go home~"


	3. Playing With Blood

AN: Believe it or not while I was writing the 2nd chapter I kinda cried at the goodbye-ing part. It didn't help that my itunes ganged up against me and played some sad music. Is that a little lame? I'm a sucker for a sad episode even if I made it and I know it how it would go down.

Also, is it me or has my grammar/style gotten better and better as this story has progressed? Hopefully saying that won't jinx anything. Ha! And thank you all for the reviews! I love you guys so much, and expect replies to review from now on! All reviews will be given previews to the next chapter as a thank you to taking the time to write a review at all. Is that a good reward? I honestly feel like I can't give you guys that much in return so it's the least I could do! Well, I'll stop babbling: enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3: Homeliness

I snuggled deeper into the sheets. They smelled comfortably musty; the room smelled comfortably musty. It was dark in the room and it was tempting me to sleep. I had just blown out all but one candle, the one on the nightstand. I had made a bargain to myself that I wouldn't sleep until he slept because it hardly seemed fair that he would work while I slept. So I stared at the candle as it gently lulled me to sleep. I was in an uncomfortable position to sleep, my neck at an odd angle, but still… I was tired. I'll just close my eyes for one moment. Just one moment. _Bull._ I knew that was a big fat lie. _Just one minute… I promise_. Well, I'm pretty sure I was crossing my fingers. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes for just a minute.

The birds were probably singing when I woke up hours later. Probably. This room had no windows; in fact, I'm sure none of the back rooms had windows. I'd feel sorry for the lad strolling by who would be looking in as we butchered the poor fellow on our tables.

Stretching my legs, I rolled over to the other side of the bed. I knew that it was too late for him to still be in bed. It was about 7 am. Last week, I started a game, it was a see-if-you-can-catch-him-before-he-wakes-up game. And so far I was losing. I only knew that he did sleep because his side of the bed would be slightly warm and the candle had been blown out. As I sat up, I felt my neck throb with an unpleasant pain. I need to get a new pillow. And a new mattress while I'm at it. I groaned, and threw myself back to the pillow, rolling some more resulting in me falling off the bed. "Uggh," What a bad way to start my morning.

Back in the Phantomhive mansion, I had my own room and my own bed. Unfortunately, Terry only had one bedroom. And after dying, I just didn't seem to care much about myself as much. I don't even think my left pinky is mine -it's a bit too long. Terry might have given me a new one because my old one was too badly damaged by the carriage. Also, it was either his bedroom, in a coffin, or with my kin on the medical tables. Besides, Terry had a very big bed. Comfy -not so much. It was placed in the middle of the room and covered at least half of it. It was a very fancy bed frame, one of those archaic four poster beds with a white satin canopy. I thought that this was weird considering he never really used it and he really didn't need the extra space. I had never though of him as vain either.

The old floor creaked as I strode towards the dresser, shoving my feet into the slippers along the way. You wouldn't believe how much money Undertakers make (but then again, I'm not sure people line up down the block to be one), and also Terry doesn't very often go shopping. Terry had always disliked the idea of receiving money (something about disliking the "queen's money" and the queen herself) but the government mailed it in none-the-less and I think he just ignored it.

The bundles of money were piled up in the corner of the lobby, behind the books, behind the skeleton model. (I had found them while cleaning.) Before I went grocery shopping, I hadn't seen anything close to resembling food other than those dog biscuit treats. Many of the customers pass when it comes to those treats. Only one person, since I've come, have had a try at them, and he left cursing which surprised me because I enjoy them every now and then.

So anyways, I took some of Terry's money and shopped extravagantly. A lesson I took with me from the earl was to never settle for the lowest quality, a lesson which may have made me a bit snobbish, but with what the Undertake could afford, it was not pertinent. Look at Ciel with all his clothes and chocolates and different unpronounceable teas: pricey but worth it. Although there really is no need to buy what you really don't need, this, however, does not mean I can't indulge myself every now and then. I am only a girl; I am drawn to expensive luxuries as magpies are to shiny things, okay? -sue me.

I went into the examination room. There was a twenty-something year old looking woman under Terry's scrutiny. The woman's face seemed to have been smashed into a brick wall, a ragged maroon line ran across her neck, and her stomach was roughly cut open. A large patch of something (I'm assuming it to be her stomach) was lying in a jar on a table beside her. One could study anatomy by looking at her. Her intestines were slightly dangling out. Puss was dried onto where the uterus was suppose to be. Her ribs were jutting out in an odd direction -almost makes me want to go and fix them for her. Blood was sprawled out all over her body. And Terry was practically radiating excitement and glee. He didn't even notice me until I waved my hand in front of his face.

"Want some breakfast?" I asked eying the lady's intestines. Terry briskly shook his head, grinning. "Jack the Ripper?" I asked. "Oh yes~ More fun for me and you~" he giggled. "Well, I'm going to make some breakfast. How do you want your eggs?" I called walking down the hallway. For a while, I didn't think he was going to answer being so caught up in his work. "Sunny side up~ Today is a happy day~" he called back. I rolled my eyes, but smiled because he didn't get like this normally. This was the second girl Jack the Ripper had killed. If I were still alive, I'd probably be freaking out and hyperventilating. Since I'm dead I don't think Mr. Ripper will scare me that much and on the plus side I'm not a prostitute so he won't care for me. A zombie prostitute. Thinking about it give me the creeps.

I had set up the table. "Hey. Its food time!" I exclaimed. Terry came rushing in with a focused gleam in his eyes, as if telling me he was concentrated on finishing his food as fast as possible. He stopped right before he sat down looking at his plate. Two eggs and a bacon.

At the time, it hadn't occurred to me that they made a smiley face or a frowny face. He sat down looking at the plate all the while. "He's not happy~" Terry mumbled dejectedly. "What?" I asked. I looked at the plate and saw what he was talking about. The bacon made it seem like the face was frowning. I almost giggled at this. Mr. Undertaker -the guy who examined dead and decayed bodies for a living- sulking at a piece of bacon. Terry looked up questioning my weirdness. I flipped the bacon around. Smiley face. We ate in silent cheeriness.

After food time, we both went into the examining room to look at Miss. Annie Chapman. Now examining her closely I saw some things I overlooked earlier.

"She struggled for a while. He cut her throat twice. I thought the blood was just part of her bashed up face before…" I started.

"And why do you think they did what they did to her face?~"

"Er…?" I didn't know. It didn't make sense why Jack the Ripper would hurt her only to kill her later on unless… I'm not positive but maybe…

"And why do you think he cut her throat not once but twice~?"

Really.. It made no sense for him to overdo it if he was looking for organs or if he were just crazy. My suspicion was seeming more and more correct.

"Jack the Ripper had a personal grudge against these women?" I suggested.

"Hmm~ And why do you think he went for the uterus?~" Terry pointed out.

If somebody were to take organs, they'd usually take something they could sell… Uteruses are just pointless unless Jack was against pregnancies. But that made no sense. Usually men liked uteruses and babies. Unless Jack was gay. But why the uterus? Why hold a grudge against prostitutes? Guys won't hate prostitutes normally, they were the ones going for and to the prostitutes. It didn't make any sense. Jack killed these prostitutes because he hated them, maybe not specifically them but he hated all of whores in general. He hated them. Yet usually men won't hate prostitutes and more importantly they sure wouldn't hate uteruses. Even if it was a man who hated prostitutes because his mom was a prostitute and traumatized him as he was growing up, most of them don't know where or what a uterus was… Unless…

"Jack is a girl!" I splurted out.

Terry just smiled and continued with his work.

Later on we concluded that she had not only been cut open by a knife but also another weapon. She had been cut open by something I've never seen before. The small shreds of skin were there to prove that. The weapon seemed to be something like a knife with many tiny knives or claws. Jack would have knowledge about surgical or doctoral skills. I did the paperwork for Miss. Chapman (Terry wasn't lying when he said I'd have the boring jobs) and we sent her on the way to a burial. It was almost noon.

I made some sandwiches. "My, my~ What I would do without your cooking?~" Terry airily stated. "You'd starve. How did you manage to live without me before?" I asked. "Well~ That's a secret~" he laughed. I made a face.

It was so easy for me to talk to Terry. You must understand something about me first. Since I was born, I'd never been a talker. My mom would always tell me that when I was a baby I didn't cry much. I'd always been one of those kids in the corner amusing herself with imagination. I never had many friends. I had a lot of chances to make friends outside of the mansion, but I never really like talking. It just wasn't my thing.

Me and Terry, we could talk for hours. Today we started our conversation talking about the Thames.

"I know! Its so dirty!" I laughed.

"Its always been that way. Heh heh~"

"I remember when I was pushed into it by this rude little boy," I remarked, "but never again!"

"I haven't ever been swimming before" he added thoughtfully.

"Really? Then I'd take you sometime," I said.

"Oh?~"

"If I ever find a good place, that is," I claimed grinning wickedly.

"Aren't you afraid something's going to pull you underneath?" he asked.

"No… not reall-" I started. I spotted Terry attempting to make a scary face and pretend his hands were claws. I smacked him softly on his head.

The store bell tinkled.

I quickly ran to the lobby to greet our customers. Terry took his time. "What may I do for you, sir?" I asked politely. What happened to my Jean persona? Well I never liked Americans. I poured some tea and offered him some of my home-made doggy biscuits (a inside joke for me and Terry) ."No thank you Ma'am. I'm just bringing a body," he explained pointing to the body on the floor behind him. Terry nodded. I opened the doors as wide as I could as two of the men carried the body into the examination room. Terry followed the body, no doubt interested in it. I was left in the lobby with the man who had spoken. The man looked part of the Scotland Yard. Small talk was polite these days. If it weren't my job, I'd just ignore him.

"It is nice that the Undertaker has gotten an assistant," he stated.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so," I let the conversation dawdle into awkward silence.

"Oh! How rude of me. I am Fred Abberline of Scotland Yard," he announced blushing.

"The Scotland Yard! How wonderful!" I proclaimed, not really caring.

He seemed to blush harder, "I haven't been there for long," he scratched the back of his head.

Fortunately, his buddies came out at this time meaning I didn't have to talk to Fred any longer.

"Well bye …"

"Emily" I told him .

"Bye Emily." And with that he left. I sighed a sigh of relief. As I've mentioned, I'm not a talker.

Pushing past the doors, I walked into the examination room with Terry already hovering over the patient. "She died from a bullet wound. These are increasing each year~" he stated, "Have I showed you how to remove a bullet?" I shook my head. He motioned for me to come closer with a scalpel. I looked closely as he inserted his scalpel into the area beside the bullet wound. Blood squirted out. It squirted out and onto his cheek. I couldn't help it. I started smiling, then giggling, and then laughing. "Funny huh?" he asked still grinning. To most people he would appear frightening with blood dripping down his face as he grinned, but not to me. To me, apparently it was hilarious. Then I felt a sticky liquid squirt on my face. It landed right above my eye. My eyes narrowed (partly because of the blood dripping into my eye and partly because of anger). I grabbed the nearest scalpel and plunged it into the body. Blood squirted… on me. Terry now started laughing hysterically. It was kind of creepy. With the blood dripping down from the new wound, I cupped some of it an threw it at him. It hit very close to his mouth.

Soon we were having a blood bath. Very literally.

The store bell tinkled.

We were still struggling with each other (mostly him from me putting that piece of tendon down his shirt) as we walked through the doors. What a sight we must have been. My hair must have been soaked red, his face streaking with blood. Me, carrying a piece of tendon. Him, grinning wildly. Both of us, dripping with blood. The lady fainted, only to awaken in a minute to tell us that she wished to cremate her daughter (the body in the examination room, the one we were playing with -not that she knew that) in a string of sentences said as fast as she could. The lady slammed the door as she left probably wondering if there was a small bomb in her daughter's abdomen or maybe how terrible it was to have our jobs.

Me and Terry looked at each other for a second. I started laughing, slapping the nearest table as I went into the examination room. Terry crackled.

Playing with blood?

How morbid.


	4. Zombie Prostitution

AN: Finally, an upload, I know... I've changed a lot during these past two years so it'll probably reflect in my writing (which I hope is a good thing). This chapter is a lot less humorous, more straight forward, and a pivotal point for this story, methinks! Damn, I hope you guys will like this chapter. It's been a while after all.

Also: for those of you who review, I think I'm giving you previews to my next chapters. I will reply to your review because that's the least I can do for you guys (since sometimes it's really easy to just skip reviewing).

A note to old readers: I know I kinda lied when I said the 4th chapter would be up like a year ago (you can send me angry PM's if you'd like), and I apologize, so from now on, no more promises, so I can't break any that I haven't made right? Presently, I'm trying to do good and dish out chapters once every two weeks or so. Please enjoy and keep reading!

* * *

Chapter 4: Zombie Prostitution

A voluptuous figure, armed with a slinky waist and boobs held up by a taut, organ-compressing corset, sensuously rubbed her hands over her cold shoulders as a John walked towards her mentally undressing her as she stood under a tall iron-wrought lamppost. In the early, early morning in London, the thin fog around them gave her either a very mysterious and appealing quality or a very ominous one. _Her face is just above average: not too ugly but not so astoundingly pretty enough to be anything near high class,_ the John thought haughtily to himself, _well, I'm not paying her for her face anyways._ The John chuckled sickeningly as he made eye contact with her. She, in turn, noticed the devious smile in his eyes and swaggered slyly, very vixen-like, to caress his arm, a basic unspoken contract saying, "pay in advance and no funny business." Apparently the John consented because he swept her into the nearest alley way and pushed her towards the cold, wet, and unforgiving brick walls with a certain sadistic edge. The lady did not openly object, either because it was an occupational hazard or because of her own sexual predilection (but most likely the former). Then, as the John felt the tension in the air build up, he huffed her scent and roamed all over her body with his hands...

"Ew, ew, ewwwww..." Emily gagged as she swiftly passed the newly-met and barely visible couple lurking in the shadows (_damn zombie eyes..._). Even her own professionalism had limits and two people snogging -nay, not snogging! -getting it on- was one of them. Stealthily, she peeked over her shoulder to witness the buff, unshaven, and obviously unhygienic man in his mid-twenties with his dusty slacks and his shoddy sweat-bleached tweed jacket running his hands through the girl's curly red hair exuberantly. The lady hated this from the obvious look of disgust-filled chagrin in her eyes which, fortunately for her, went unnoticed since the John kept himself busy enough looking elsewhere.

Emily knew she would never ever, ever start allowing somebody else to start sliding any part of themselves on her like the lady was allowing in the alleyway. As soon as she imagined herself in the lady's place, she felt a little queasy because she would hate to be a prostitute and loathed the fact that a lot of the girls didn't have that much of a choice. Shuddering stiffly, she continued to stroll through the dark foggy, unending streets of London, hoping to stumble upon Jackie the Ripper-girl quickly. At the moment, Emily was working undercover. She watched the cobblestones pass under her feet, praying that she would not be asked to do somebody a "service." The chilly wind road down the front of her chest, left uncovered by her very red, very misleading dress.

Flushed and fanning her now-burning cheeks with a gloved hand, Emily just longed to find Jackie girl already. Afterwards, she'll just go back home and hide so she'll never have to exhibit her face in public ever again. Couldn't Jackie have had a nurse or a schoolgirl fetish rather than a prostitute one? Was it so hard to find fault in ladies of more appropriate professions? Or otherwise, why did she have to go on a recon mission anyhow? Couldn't she have walked around town with her regular clothes on? Emily's fists shook indignantly as she thought of the circumstances that led her here and the man responsible.

* * *

Long, long ago... (about 12 hours, actually)...

Emily stood in front of Terry's "guest room" ready to either commit murder or cry, and with the spirit of a legendary Kung-Fu master, she kicked down the door which subsequently bashed into the wall, razzling Terry and snatching him out of his work-a-holic train of thought. He had been delicately collecting his organs (and was presently dropping a very pathetic looking pancreas into a jar for later research). Emily's dramatic entrance caused him to knock a scalpel off the table. It fell too close to stabbing his foot for his comfort.

"Teerrrry!" Emily cried, the woeful shriek followed as she wrapped her left arm around Terry's waist. Terry looked down and saw a wildly afraid and cutely tearful Emily in a heavy cloak out of which her left arm poked and wrapped around him. The grip then tightened and quivered.

"What have I done to owe the honor of this one-sided hug?~" Terry asked, privately congratulating himself for his clever pun. Emily slowly removed her cling on him, brandishing what appeared to be her right arm clasped in the palm of her left. Terry's eyebrows rose up considerably under his bangs. The silence that followed allowed for them both to hear a vague fleshy, crunching squirm, a sound that came from Emily or at least her body. Emily heard it, and she had for a couple of weeks now. At first, she could easily blame an old floorboard or the wind, but recently it happened with more frequency that she feared the sound came from something gnawing on her dead flesh from the inside.

Up until now, she ignored it with an uncompromising resolve. She flung her right arm into the pile of spare limbs in a neglected corner of a room next to the suspicious black mold ("it's not mold," Terry once told her) and the smelly boots of one of the current "guests." The arm slapped harshly against the other limbs, paralleling her own exasperation. Emily felt angry. She also felt scared: what happens when she looses all her limbs? After all, what was a zombie without a corpse?

Terry strode over to her to prepare himself for the rant that was to come. Emily grimaced, took in a large, gulping breath, and started, "Well... I was shopping for that new mattress that I wanted because I thought yours was too old and lumpy, and I saw this really cool one the other day so I'd thought I'd go back and get it even though you were all 'eh? Why do we need a new mattress?' so today, I decided to secretly buy it (it's a round mattress imported from Germany and yes, I know it sounds all fancy, but I think its best to go get a long-lasting mattress if we are, or at least I am, going to be using it a lot), and bring it home so you couldn't really do anything about it; the kindly old gentleman there at the shop said that I could receive a special discount because I was so beautiful and so I thought that was very nice, if not flattering of him, who is this homely, quite polite old man, and his shop was so nice and pulchritudinous -and I loved his brilliant painting of Artemis holding a bunch of flowers- and smelled good – and then –and then –_my arm fell off!_ … and as it stands, I cannot possibly go back and buy that mattress!"

Terry hardly let the words catch up to what she was saying before the last part hit him (the part about the arm, not about her not being able to buy her dream mattress, and if it weren't so serious he would have suggested that this whole farce was an omen not to buy that mattress). Then, Terry looked a little confounded as he spoke, "It just fell?~" When Emily nodded, she held a very horrified gleam in her eyes – a cute improvement, Terry thought to himself. He walked over to the pile of limbs, taking Emily's abandoned arm, examining it. On the arm at the very end of it (on the humerus side), he determined that the arm fell due to the skin along the edge had lost its resilience and basically couldn't sustain its own weight. The little flaps of broken skin dangling carelessly corroborated his theory. Essentially, the skin was cut like the holes on filler paper after being tugged on too many times, so that the binder could no longer hold onto the paper, resulting in the paper falling. This meant that her skin had lost its elasticity at an alarming rate. With his back turned towards Emily, Terry pinched the skin on the abandoned arm above the elbow. It came off as easily as pulling apart flesh colored cotton candy.

"What? What is it?" Emily pipped up, becoming alarmed at Terry's silence. She stepped towards him, but he hastily threw the arm in a bin on the other side of the room with much precision. Shaking his head, he turned back to Emily, smiling. "No, nothing~ The string around your arm must have broke. Have you recently bumped into anything?"

"Well... I did think my arm got caught in this carriage door this morning..."

"Well, then~ that's the reason... Here~ choose a new arm for me to stitch you up with~!" Terry pointed at the pile of limbs, " it's times like these I'm glad I collect extra body parts~"

"Why can't I just use my old one? " Emily asked quizzically.

"Because that one's old already~ Don't you want to try on new arms? Arm yourself with new experiences?~"

"Well, actually-"

"OH~! That's right~!" Terry interrupted, "hurry up and choose an arm already~! Choose your arm so I can show you the latest victim from our Jackie girl!~"

Emily's eyebrows rose upward, interested, and began to dig through the pile. There were a lot of limbs there: arms and legs, hands and feet, torsos and necks, in such a variety you wouldn't believe: all sorts of shapes and sizes and colors resided in the pile, and Emily thought it best if she chose an arm much like hers -although maybe with longer, more elegant fingers and better manicured nails, possibly one without any scars and was really soft... Emily settled for an arm with her own skin color, pale and slightly blue-ish (depending on the lighting), and it was only a tiny bit longer (and slightly more attractive) than her old arm. As she sat on a stool, Terry filled her in about the new guest a few meters away while stitching up the new arm ("a wonderful choice~").

"Our next victim of Jackie: Catherine Eddowes. Same M.O.: the uterus removed in surgical fashion, her throat cut, but I smell the work of a non-human, too."

"Non-human? A demon?" One specific demon came to Emily's mind.

"No, no~ Demons are too old to be bothered, especially one who is under a contract like Sebastian." Terry gave her a pointed look. "More like... I sense somebody more like me~"

"What? An insane hermit who has way too much time on his hands?" Emily joked gaining another pointed look, "Okay so seriously, like a death lord?"

"Death god~ and yes, a death god working with a human, most likely."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

Terry shrugged his insufferable shrug, "I feel it in my bones?"

"So what are we going to do about it?" Emily asked, a little too enthusiastically. Again, Terry shrugged. He was teasing her. He knew what she wanted to do about it, but enjoyed watching Emily get frustrated.

"We should solve this case! And bring Jackie to justice!" Emily declared, liking the sound of that (Jackie to justice!), and slapping her thigh with her new right hand with newfound determination!

"And how do you suppose we'll do that?" Here Emily peered through her white eyelashes with what hopefully could pass of as puppy-dog eyes. "I was hoping you would have a plan."

Terry guffawed, "Gufuu!~ But that would be no fun right?~ Come on love~ it's not as if you don't have a brain." He eyed a container on a shelf. It contained a yellow-y liquid and a squishy pink brain in it. Terry chuckled. Emily smacked him across his head. He really was on a roll today with all his puns and ironic jokes.

"Well~... we know that a) Jackie is a woman 2) she has surgical experience 3) wait no...~ c) she is working with or is a non-human, and d) she doesn't like prostitutes," Terry listed out.

"So we're looking for a woman doctor/surgeon/medical student/illegal doctor/immigrant who used to be a doctor," Emily noted groaning, "I already feel tired thinking about it."

"I'll do the research. How about that?~" Terry suggested innocently, "why don't you do some spy work or whatever it is you call it?~"

Emily nodded rigorously. She'd been training as a spy since she was six, and although her field work assignments stopped once Vincent Phantomhive died (Ciel never asked her for her skills), Emily still retained most of her training. She thought that the "spy work or whatever it was that she called it" would be as easy as throwing carrots into a vegetable minestrone.

"Brilliant~! I have just the wardrobe for this kind of thing!" Terry exclaimed.

"Wardrobe?" Emily had an immediate heart-to stomach feeling that she wouldn't like the idea. Taking a candle from the table, Terry nodded as he took her hand in his and dragged her out of the guest room and down the dark hallway. Emily barely had space to stop herself from tripping over her own feet with the speed they were going. Soon, they stopped at the furthermost door down the hall which she had always thought was a storage room.

The dark wooden door seemed oddly foreboding as Terry opened it. Past it were dark, damp stone stairs. The air smelled a bit old and somewhere down there, she heard a dripping sound. "Terry, what in the world?" she asked.

"It's my storage room~" he replied simply, leading them down. Emily, however, took her time, her fingers tracing the wall should she need to steady herself on the perilous stairs. After a grueling minute of putting one foot in front of the other, she finally reached the bottom with an calm Terry at her side. Looking up, she saw that she stood at the end of a stone hallway with gas lights along the walls. It led to an opening, a semi-circle shaped room, which had two floors and many, many doors whose frames were lit by an enormous iron-wrought chandelier hanging from an arched ceiling. _Really, who had the time to make this? _Emily thought, impressed but not ready to admit it.

On the first floor, about a dozen doors lined around, one after the other, and the second floor accessible by a pair of stairs set directly in the middle. Emily first ran to a door closest to her on the right side, opening it, and discovering rows upon rows of scalpels and other medical utensils. Moving to the next door, she found neat mounds of an assortment of candles. The next door, a glass jar galore. The next, cleaning supplies. And so forth.

Terry waiting patiently until Emily wore herself out, taking the time to pick at his lengthy fingernails. He decided he needed to clean them later. "Come on Emily!~" he called out, starting upstairs. Emily followed obediently. On the second floor, there were only two doors, one at the very middle and one at the furthest right corner. Terry opened the middle door, lightly turning the brass handle. He motioned for Emily to follow; upon walking into the room, she found herself surrounded by darkness until Terry went around, lighting the lamps around the room with his candle. Slowly, the room came to life revealing a couch in the middle and a iron rod stretching around over ¾ of the room, the final portion of the room left to a tremendous vanity and a large stand-up full-length mirror. Clothes were hung sparingly on the rod, but still, there must have been a hundred articles of clothing not including the shoes, accessories, jewelry, and hats that lay on shelves under the iron rod.

Emily couldn't help but notice that a lot of the exotic clothing was designed for women. She gave Terry a look to which he smiled back lightly, explaining, "stuff I've collected over the years~"

Emily held out a white flowy toga, not knowing what it was. "Again~ Just stuff~"

Emily had never seen so much clothes outside of a shop before, and she had never seen such a varying wardrobe, containing colors and patterns she'd never seen before. Browsing through the dresses with great interest, Emily stopped in front of Terry who held a red dress in front of her with one eye closed, head cocked as if picturing her in that dress. "What's that?" Emily asked. Red wasn't her favorite color. It didn't suit her very well. All that passion and fury was wasted on her and she felt out of place in that color.

"It's your dress~"

"What?" Emily's eyes popped out slightly.

"You're going undercover remember?~"

"I know, but... do you mean...?" she scrutinized the dress: it puffed out right at the hips with a flair, red bead designs swirled around the front which dropped past what Emily believed to be acceptable, the back showed off the black string of the corset. Emily felt a wave of understanding hit her. _This is what he meant by "undercover"..._

"Yes~ You're going to be a prostitute and see if Jackie will choose you~ or at the very least you'll blend with the crowd and hopefully see who Jackie is!~"

Emily shook her head relentlessly, "no, nononono... that sounds...no!"

"Emily~" Terry sighed, "your pride-"

"But Terry! Pride has nothing to do with this...! It's a matter of decency!" Emily whined helplessly, but almost regretted it immediately when she saw Terry purse his lips. A wash of dread came over Emily when Terry finally spoke. He spoke with just that much more of a serious edge which scared her just that much more.

"Emily~ This is about you wanting to save human lives."

Emily swallowed though her throat was dry, allowing for the statement to sink in.

"Now suck in your pride and be a prostitute!~" Terry ended cheerfully. Emily smiled a little, "Yea, okay, but only because you asked sooo nicely," she snickered, snatching the dress and shooing Terry out of the room to get dressed. Five minutes later, Emily bellowed for Terry to come back in and tie the corset for her.

Emily's breathe hitched as the fabric pushed her organs to self-destruct on themselves. "Can't you do it any looser?"

"Honey~ Any looser and you won't look like a proper prostitute," Terry joked, but loosened the string nevertheless. When finished, Emily examined herself in the mirror with mixed emotions. On one hand, she felt like she needed a thick blanket to cover herself up. On the other hand, she quite liked how she looked -not that she'd say it aloud. Emily twirled on the spot, noting that her costume could be a lot worse, and compared to some of the things she had seen on the street lately (something about a new fashion for the younger girls), this dress wasn't too appalling.

"Terry... I look like a prostitute," Emily sighed exasperatedly.

"I'm glad we're on the same page~" Terry chuckled.

"By the way, what time is it?" she inquired.

"About three~"

Emily's eyebrows twitched a little in anger. "Then, why am I getting dressed now?" She took her old dress in her arms and was about to march out of the room when she turned around, asking, "Terry?... Honestly, how do I look?"

"You look like Aphrodite herself~" Terry answered pleasantly.

"...Huh?" Emily finally said, whipping around.

"Love, you look dashing~"

Emily stomped off towards the stairs. Her cheeks matched her dress.

* * *

Present Time...

"Arggghhh... I'm going to bloody murder him..." Emily grumbled as she treaded lightly on the stone floors. Keeping an eye out for any suspicious looking women, she was startled when a short piercing scream rang out close to her. Taking a minute to orient herself and locate where the sound originated, she took off quickly to an alley to her right, only stopping when she could hear an odd growling noise. RRRR-RRRR!

Suddenly scared, she sank to her knees and crawled to the edge of the building, peeking past the brick building to witness a long red-haired man using some sort of rotating tool to tear at a girl's body. With pentagonal glasses and an inhuman smile full of piranha-sharp teeth, he stood over the girl in the narrow, dim alley, the lamppost flickering as if the light yearned to run away. He looked as if he was having the time of his life: his face lit up like a bomb on Christmas Day, his laugh hyena-like and impossibly giddy, his clothes doused in blood. The girl's body was already a mess and thoroughly dead, but he kept slashing and slashing and slashing away until parts of her spleen sprayed on the walls and got flung upwards and rained back down.

One wet slop of red mushy goo fell a few centimeters away from Emily. She started shivering and would have vomited if she had a gag reflex or if she'd been alive. Her feet froze to the ground, but even if she could move, what possibly could she have done? The Undertaker had warned her earlier that a death god may have the power to kill her, for good this time. At the time, Terry said it so off-handedly, and to be honest, neither of them expected Emily to find Jackie.

Terry only desired to dress up Emily, and sure, Emily had said that she would try to catch Jackie, but the reality was that Emily couldn't do anything about her even if she did. Now that the fact of the matter caught up to what Emily said, Emily felt like a coward and a hypocrite. She could run into the alley and ask Jackie and the Death God to stop, but she'd be killed, for real this time. The victim had died a while back from the looks of the slashed throat, and now the death god was just kicking the dead horse, in a matter of speaking. He was playing with the body.

Having no weapon that would arm herself against a death god, Emily sat in tormenting silence, listening to blood-curling squishy and tearing sounds from a body that secreted an array of unpleasant effluvia. When the noises stopped, Emily shakily peeked out again to see two figures retreating, one with the weapon and one with a regal looking dress whose color Emily couldn't distinguish in the dim lighting. After they left and after a few moments to collect her wits, Emily stepped towards the victim. The blood ran in between individual cobblestones and seeped into the cracks on the floor. Emily dismissively wondered if the blood would always circulate throughout London when the rain washed it away and into the sewers or when it evaporated and showered down with the rest of the rain.

The girl looked to be about twenty, twenty-five at the most. Emily thought about the girl's life if she hadn't died. The girl would have continued to sell herself every night. Though, maybe she had a family to support. Maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe today was the day she met a well-off gentleman and she be lifted out of the gutters, but that sounded doltish even in her mind. Nobody would care now, anyhow.

The girls' face was tensed with fear and angst. Probably, she gave in when she perceived no escape route. Emily bent over her mutilated body and pinched her cheeks, wiggling them around a little to loosen its muscles and closed her eyes. Once relaxed, the girl had a pleasant enough face: a fair complexion, light hair, soft rose-colored lips, long eyelashes. Emily looked down at her own red dress, its front now soaked in dark patches. She vaguely chuckled. Maybe Terry chose this color because the blood was hardly distinguishable from the rest of the dress.

Then she walked slowly to a main street to catch somebody, hopefully a police officer. It took her five blocks and half an eternity to find an officer who then grabbed her by the shoulders and chastised her for a good minute, probably because her disguise worked so well, getting mad when she just responded with a blank stare. He started to drag her somewhere, a police office no doubt, but when she gripped his hand tightly and got loose from his clutch, he blinked at her unexpected (zombie) strength and opened his mouth to reprimand her. Emily beat him to it, articulating coldly, "Jack the Ripper has struck again, and now if you'll be so kind as to join me and do your duty rather than bully little girls..."

Gasping like a fish out of water, the police officer nodded complacently, and Emily led him to the scene, all the while with her eyes looking downwards. When they turned the final corner to the scene of crime, the police officer halted abruptly, gagged, vomited, instructed Emily to stay put for further questioning, and ran off to bring his posse. "Newbie," she mumbled as she walked towards the wall opposite of the vomit, backed into it, hit her spine awkwardly, and slid down to sit with her knees pulled in and her forehead pressed to them.

The back up, what seemed like too many people for one murder scene, clambered up to be the first to see the scene. A lot of the younger members seemed to run off and vomit their guts out (later they most likely would tell stories of their valor and brandish their bravado to friends and family), whereas older, harder stomachs walked around the scene, often scowling when they accidentally step in pools of flesh.

None of them could do anything except busily chatter and make non-relevant or very obvious deductions such as "the murderer cut the victim open several times" or "the victim most likely did not have much money due to the jewelry she wore." After several bystanders identified the body, there wasn't much for them to do other than to bag the body and clean up the scene.

One officer finally came to Emily with a pen and a pad of paper. A group of officers whispered out not quietly enough about Emily, mistaking her for an old lady because of her white hair. Emily raised her head at the officer who looked surprised at her young features. He was obviously a rookie by the way his eyes looked red and bewildered from the crime scene. She answered all his questions as shortly as possible, taking pleasure in his growing impatience with her (which angered him even more).

"Knock it off, man. Can't you see the poor girl's in shock?" a voice called out, and then more warmly addressed Emily. "Are you alright?" Emily looked towards the voice, one which she obscurely recognized. It was Fred from the other day. Faintly, she smiled, "I'm better than the Miss over there anyhow." Emily jerked her head at the body. Fred almost glowered at her poor humor. This inspired Emily to act more playful with the officers to incite more of their horror. She needed a release of tension after what she had been through. She deserved to be able to antagonize and scare the officers.

"Okay Miss. Emily. Tell me what happened," he told her softly, crouching on the ground beside her.

"Well..." Emily put on her most theatrical voice, "here I was, minding my own business, strolling (business doesn't rest for the dead), and then... I hear a faint scream!" the small crowd of junior officers, that started to clustered around her, gasped, "At first from that distance, I thought it was some cats fighting or something." When Emily nodded, the rest of group did too as if they knew what she was talking about.

"So with my curiosity piqued, I follow the voice to the source. The night was dark and every shadow, every drip of water, every rat scuttling frightened me, but still, I told myself I would be brave!... The closer I got, the louder I could discern this wild, beastly giggling –I tell you, dear sirs, that cacophonious giggling sounded like the devil himself– but as I turn around the corner, my blood rushed to my ears and my heart went doomb-doomb-doomb!, there was... nobody there..." The group around her let out a collective sigh of relief, "except for the body!" the group shivered.

"Boys, you should have seen the body before the break of dawn. The putridinous, rancid corpse lay, and I was so shocked I almost screamed... BUT _I COULDN'T! _It shocked me so; I was left floored, speechless, even gabberflasted!..." Emily took this time to pause greatly and mock-fan her near-fainting self.

She grinned menacingly. It made the crowd gulp. "Of course, I hadn't expected anything quite so histrionical this early in the morning, but gulping down my pride, I galloped -galloped, boys!- to discover the whereabouts of a police officer (and when I did, he quite rudely and quite blatantly accused me of..." Emily faded off. The crowd gasped indigent.

"Ma'am, so you naught 'ave seen Jack the Ripper?" a junior officer questioned. Emily made a very grave face, "No, boy, but I did hear him, and let me tell you something about his laugh. That laugh wasn't human. It sounded like a banshee wailing..." her voice dropped low and quiet, "like children screaming, like fire raging. It was as if he enjoyed how he slaughtered that poor defenseless woman." Now, Emily's voice was barely a whisper and all the officers leaned in to hear her next words. "It sounded like-" Suddenly, very deafeningly, very abruptly, "GENTLEMEN! BACK TO WORK!" a thunderous voice called out, making everybody (even Emily) jump and almost fall all over one another.

Shaking the fear out of their faces, the young officers lugged themselves back to work, grumbling. At least, all of them had a good souvenir story to scare their children at home or their friends at the pub when they got drunk later that night to wipe the sight of the massacre scene from their mind.

"Miss Emily. Shall I escort you home?" Fred finally asked with a caring twinkle in his eyes. Emily eyed the girl's body as two men carried it into the carriage. She pointed at it and asked, "Where is that going?"

Fred responded, "To the Undertaker. Our work is done here."

"Oh. Then, I'll just ride with that carriage."

"But wouldn't you rather go home and take your mind off of the horrendous sight you have witnessed this morning? Surely, your employer will not mind," Fred suggested. Emily looked at him. He cared for her wellbeing for some reason. She found it simultaneously charming and vexing.

"That place is home," she responded simply.

Against her protests and repeat claims that she didn't need an escort, Fred sat beside her in the carriage. Emily looked down most of the trip, an action which Fred misread as shock and a sign of her mental deterioration, mistakenly thinking of Emily as a regular, fanciful, and innocent girl. As a result, Fred placed what he thought was an awkward but comforting hand over Emily's. The action received an irritated sigh from Emily who very much wanted to snatch her hand away from under Fred's; she was very glad that Fred cared about her, even had a little crush on her, but she also knew that she was a much stronger, much more indomitable person than Fred gave her credit for. It was only out of respect and politeness that she stopped herself.

Emily was grateful when the carriage stopped, indicating their arrival at Undertaker's shop. Rushing out of the carriage so fast Fred could almost hear the _whoosh_, Emily dug in her pockets for the key, but Terry surprised her when he opened the doors for her and the body. Terry noticed Emily's long face and reached up to stroke her cheek. She didn't even mind the ticklish feeling she got from his fingernails. A moment later, he found Emily flinging herself around his neck.

"Terry..." she whispered sadly, a great weight on each syllable," Terry, there wasn't anything, anything at all, that I could do."

Terry, who half carried her inside, patted her back softly. Fred was left neglected, feeling a bit of jealousy prod through his chest.

"Of course not, love~ But no worries, we'll get Jackie girl real soon. Okay?~" Emily just nodded in his shoulder. She wasn't crying. She wanted to, but just couldn't find the tears.

"E~mi~ly~~" Terry called out sing-soningly, "want to hear something that will cheer you up?" Emily nodded childishly.

"Ciel will probably come over today~!"

Emily's ears perked up as she pushed away from the hug with a very ecstatic look on her face. "Ciel?" Terry nodded in response. He was amused at her caprice.

"Well, in that case I need to make some biscuits and prepare the tea and clean up the lobby! Oh my good savior in heaven and whatnot, what time is it? Oh! So much to do!" Terry smiled as she busied herself like a bee. He always had the right thing to cheer her up.

The rest of the morning, they ate, examined the body (which depressed Emily a little bit because the girl was knocked with a blunt object but gained consciousness halfway through the dissection and screamed the scream that Emily had heard and had her throat cut open; cause of death: an instant bleeding to death), removed her organs, put her aside to be buried, cleaned the lobby, made some biscuits (in the dog biscuit shape that Terry loved), and helped think of Terry's entrance when Ciel arrived.

Originally, Terry wanted to dim down all the lights and walk in the shadows to greet them, but finally they agreed that coming from a coffin would be best. Initially, Emily told him to rise up from one of the coffins littered on the ground, but Terry's back argued strongly against it ("This is why we need a new mattress!"). So they settled on a coffin lined up against the wall.

"What are you going to say?" Emily asked.

"What about: 'Hello there, Ciel...'" Terry practiced shifting the coffin lid off with precision... before it fell and clanked on the floor. "Whoops."

"Hmmm..." Emily helped the lid stand upright again, "I'd suggest not letting go of the lid."

"How about 'Would you like to see the inside of the coffins?~'""

"No. Too... No," Emily shook her head.

Terry closed the coffin again and started again.

The lid glided open creepily, "Welcome Earl~ Do you want to see how it feels to sleep in my custom-made coffin...?~" His beady eyes seemed to glower and even Emily felt goosebumps. She gave him a thumbs up. "Yup, that's the one." Terry stepped out of the coffin, gingerly placing the lid back in place, as if not to hurt the coffin.

"You really like scaring people, don't you?"

"Of course~ It's something to take my mind off of worrying about somebody..."

"Hey!" Emily exclaimed defensively, smacking him lightly.

"Oi, oi. No worries~ I like worrying about you~" Terry grinned ear to ear.

Emily endearingly smacked him again, "Stupid Terry."


End file.
